Mornings on the Farm
by BrenRenQoI
Summary: A series  in progress ;P   of short scenes of Lois Lane's favorite time of day at her new home-away-from-home, the Kent Farm in Smallville.
1. Chapter 1

Mornings on the Farm  
>By Bren Ren<p>

~~*S*~~  
>Summary: A series (in progress ;) ) of short scenes of Lois Lane's favorite time of day at her new home-away-from-home, the Kent Farm in Smallville.<p>

Rating: T, Teen for somewhat harsh language

Disclaimer: If y'all hadn't left so much material from Offscreenville on the Editing Room floor, we wouldn't have to cover your asses with fanfiction. Just go ahead and admit that you enjoy letting us fill in the gaps as much as we do and the world will be a much happier place!  
>~~*S*~~<p>

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>Mornings on the Farm:<br>Morning the First  
>~~*S*~~<p>

"Enjoying the fresh country air?"

"The smell of cows, the chirping din of a Hitchcock film, and let's not forget the roosters' pre-dawn wake-up call more jarring than the opening of "Time" on a twenty-six foot stack of Mackie-speakers with 1500-watt amps." At the askance look of total non-comprehension on Clark's face, I elaborated with an exaggerated eye-roll. " 'Time' ? Pink Floyd? Opens with an army of cuckoo clocks and chimes screaming for about a full minute? Ring any bells?"

"Sorry. Not too familiar with Pink Floyd."

"Seriously? Smallville, you have got to expand your musical horizons." It was hard to tell whether that was fear… or perhaps a mix of shock and interest that lit up his face for a moment. Either way, it disappeared as fast as it flashed into its brief existence. In an instant, he shifted right back into what seemed to be his customary faintly bemused smirk.

One that was tinged with a fair dose of smugness.

"Not a fan of country living, then."

"Those… birds…" I spat it out like a dirty word. "Never shut up!" He laughed at me, just irking me all the more. So I irked back. "And don't get me started on the smell!" I shot him a pointed look, crinkling my nose with a very loud (and very unladylike, I could hear Mom saying) huff, purely for effect.

And it was definitely effective. My eyes danced with glee, though I tried not to gloat. Much.

"That's what happens when you spend the first couple of pre-dawn hours working on chores and other strenuous activities."

"So, grunt work."

His eyes and jaws snapped shut for a second, and I just couldn't help the little victorious giggle that bubbled out. He really was quite fun to bait, I decided. In fact, I realized, I could really have some fun with this one.

Oh, hell.

I could really get myself into all kinds of trouble with this one.

No. That would not be good. It would be all kinds of bad, in fact. And this was not the time or the place for that. And he was definitely not the one… No. No way this farm boy could be The One. No way in hell.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm going to hit the shower."

"Please do. And hit it hard, you need it!" He just glared at me for a half-second before he fled—practically sped away across the porch. "And hurry up," I added just before he got the front door open. "We've got to get out to that not-so-safe house and find out what really happened to Chloe. Daylight's a-burnin'! Isn't that what they say out here in the sticks?"

He didn't bother trying to come up with a witty retort, just tossed me another glare over his shoulder before finishing his not-quite-so-hasty retreat. Score one for Lane, folks!


	2. Chapter 2

Mornings on the Farm:  
>Ah, Felafel School Days<p>

~~*S*~~

It was all of six o'clock in the morning when the vaults of the Swiss Army clocks company opened with the din of a million cuckoo clocks and other assorted chimes blaring at full volume. I rolled out of Clark's bed, promptly crashing onto the floor with a string of curses worthy of a fleet of pirates. As I stumbled my way over to the source of the rude awakening, Clark's boom-box, I could hear the muffled chortles of the guy responsible coming through the closed bedroom door. I opened it just in time to catch Clark in the hallway before he disappeared into the bathroom.

"What the hell, Smallville?"

"Don't glare at me like that! After your comments the other day, I figured you'd prefer that to the roosters."

"Not when the roosters have already done the job!"

"If they did, why weren't you up yet?"

"Because it was four o'clock in the morning?"

"Well, then, you should be thanking me. At least now you're up with enough time to get ready for school!"

I'd have thrown something at him, but he slipped into the bathroom and closed the door before I finished growling. "Hey! I've got first dibs on the shower!"

"Then you should have gotten up earlier," came his muffled reply. When I heard the rush of water start up, I growled again.

"Your mascot should be the cocks," I grumbled as I turned back into the bedroom. This was just great. Back to school—to high school, dammit, with the class clown. For a half a second, I was almost the teensiest bit impressed. I didn't think Smallville had it in him to play such a practical joke. Or more like, a totally obnoxious, impractical joke. It was going to be one hell of a day, I could tell.


	3. Chapter 3

Mornings on the Farm:

Slam Dunk

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The moment the truck came to a stop, I started climbing out; before Clark could even turn off the engine I'd started making a beeline for the front porch steps. But rather than climbing the stairs to go inside, I plopped down on the first step, leaned back on my elbows and gazed up at the glittery stars twinkling in the dark of night. Clark joined me, but only after making a show of his blatantly faux annoyance with a melodramatic sigh and a heavy shake of his head.

"I don't know why I let you talk me into that after-party," he grumbled as he lowered himself down next to me.

My eyes glinted in the faint moonlight as I made no effort to mask my delight in teasing my housemate. "Maybe because you were in desperate need of a good time?"

"I know how to have a good time. And it doesn't usually involve staying out until two in the morning—my folks are probably going to kill me."

"Oh, relax, Smallville. You're such a good little boy-scout, I'm sure they won't ride you too hard."

"You obviously don't know my parents very well. I don't think anyone has ever gotten me into so much trouble in so little time."

"Good! You could use a little trouble. It's not healthy to be so darn _good_ all the time."

"You could stand to be _good _once in a while. It won't kill you."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"You'll never know unless you try it. And you can wipe the smug look off your face anytime now. I might even thank you."

"Might that involve another look at your farmer's tan?" Despite the amber glow of the porch light, I could tell Clark had nearly turned purple with embarrassment. "You know, if you ever find yourself in need of a little extra cash, we could clean up at the tag-team wet shirt contest."

This time he almost swallowed his tongue. I was sure he was processing the mental image that line conjured up. "Uh, no. Thanks. Definitely not my thing."

I rolled my eyes. "Right. Not unless it involves a football, farm animals, tractors, or other farm equipment."

Clark just glared for a moment. "You know, if there's anything I can do to help get you on your way back to Met U and the big city, just say the word."

"Happen to know anyone with connections to the Dean? 'Cause that's probably the only thing that could make any difference."

"Maybe you should have attended more classes. Done your homework. Avoided staying out all night partying."

"I don't stay out all night. We're home now, and I'm pretty sure that silver crescent hanging up there in the sky isn't the sun, not to mention all the darkness, so it's still night."

"Yes, it is. But some of us have to get up early and actively contribute to taking care of the farm."

"I'm a guest. Guests don't have to do household chores."

"You stopped being a guest the second your box of power ballad CDs and six pieces of luggage showed up on the doorstep. Why in the world do you need six suitcases worth of clothing, anyway?"

"Brace yourself for a shocker, Smallville. Some people don't like wearing flannel all day every day."

"I don't just wear flannel."

"Right. Flannel and t-shirts. Sorry, I happen to like a little variety in my wardrobe. Spice of life! You should try it some time."

"I am perfectly comfortable wearing flannel and t-shirts, thank you."

"Of course you are. Which is exactly why you should try something new. Get out of the comfort zone."

"Don't think I've been in the comfort zone since you came to town."

"You poor, poor thing. You'll thank me for it someday."

"Don't bet on it."

I assumed my best game-face smirk. "What, you afraid of a little friendly wager, Smallville?"

But rather than rise to my bait, he just rose to his feet with an exaggerated huff of annoyance and a roll of his eyes. "I'm going to bed while I can still get a couple hours of sleep."

"You might want to have a towel handy," I called back before he reached the top step. He paused, but wouldn't deign to turn back and face me again. "You know, in case your dreams get a little… wet."

A groan. That was all I got, but it was enough. I was still chuckling as he slipped inside the front door. Lane, two, Smallville, zip. At least this extended stay in Nowheresville was good for something!

~~*S*~~


	4. Chapter 4

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>Mornings on the Farm:<br>The Virtual Farm Morning  
>~~*S*~~<p>

~~*S*~~

I couldn't sleep. The sun was not even warm yet, and there I was wide awake.

At least I knew who I could blame.

I climbed out of bed, plunked down in the world's least comfortable desk chair and flipped open my laptop. A moment later, my fingers were flying as I composed a tirade of an email worthy of my foul mood.

~~*s*~~

To: SmallvilleFarmboy(at)WooHoo**dot**com  
>From: LoisLaneSuperChic(at)RedHotMail<strong>dot<strong>com  
>Subject: This is all YOUR fault.<p>

It's barely past four-thirty in the morning and I am wide awake. I am not awake this early unless I've been up so late it's early.

Those roosters may be miles and miles away, but I swear, I heard them. And then I'm laying there, trying to go back to sleep, but I can't, cuz I just know that the second I start drifting back into that dream and things start getting really good again, those damn birds are going to start cock-a-doodle-doing the cock-block of Hitchcock proportions. And then some idiot's hyper-sensitive car alarm starts blaring, and I actually start to freak out for a second because I just know it's gonna set off the chicken coop Def Con 1.

This is ridiculous, and I blame you.

Yeah, I know that's completely ridiculous too. It's stupid early, I'm not a morning person, and I'm grouchy. Suffer.

If I ever even think about spending one more *early* morning on that farm, just do the world a favor and shoot me.

See… this is why I don't do mornings!

Lois

~~*s*~~

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To: SmallvilleFarmboy(at)WooHoo**dot**com  
>From: LoisLaneSuperChic(at)RedHotMail<strong>dot<strong>com  
>Subject: Good Morning to you, too!<p>

God help the world if you ever find yourself stuck in an actual day-job!

I can't believe you've got me using this stupid email address. I can't believe I even let you talk me into setting it up. You must be some kind of force of nature, Lois Lane.

Why don't you brew yourself a nice strong pot of coffee, eat a couple donuts, enjoy the sunrise, and try something new: enjoying an early start to your day!

Clark

~~*s*~~

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To: SmallvilleFarmboy(at)WooHoo**dot**com  
>From: LoisLaneSuperChic(at)RedHotMail<strong>dot<strong>com  
>Subject: Enjoy this!<p>

If you knew the kind of day I've got to look forward to, you'd want to crawl back under the covers and return to dreamland, too. Especially *that* dreamland.

On that happy thought, don't you have chores you should be doing? Don't work too hard, Smallville!

Lois

~~*s*~~

I waited a few minutes, but it's clear that Clark isn't bothering to respond to that last message. I'd bet the farm he's gone straight to the shower. Maybe this morning thing isn't be so bad… Yeah, right.

I dug my eye-mask out of the nightstand, flopped back down on my bed and shut out the world for a couple of hours. That dream had been getting so good, after all… who wouldn't rush back to a dream lover in the clouds?

~~*S*~~


End file.
